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She’s too fast. Before Jaina can catch up to the enraged banshee, she’s gone. Sylvanas’ wraith form is nowhere to be found within the castle, and Jaina is left panting from exhaustion, trying to catch her breath while leaning against a wall carpet, driven to tears. Looking up at the ceiling, the swirls of gilded decorations against Kul Tiran green start to swim before her eyes. As she is on the verge of sinking to her knees from exhaustion and distress, someone props her up against the wall.

A pair of cool purple gloves pat her firmly on the cheeks, wiping through streaks of tears and a set of icy blue eyes looks into her bleary reddened ones. Jaina leans forward into the pair of welcoming arms, but she is dragged to her feet instead. A few words get through to her. “Come on, stand up. The castle can’t see their Lord Admiral like this and the servants are already running around spreading rumors about the sudden departure of your… wife. I’ve sent Tandred to deal with it but for Tides’ sake Jaina pull yourself together.’

‘M-mother… Sylvanas, she, s-she’s gone…’ Jaina stumbles upright, searching for purchase on the wall.

‘I have noticed,’ Katherine says blandly. ‘Now to your feet. We can’t have you stumble through the corridors like this.’ She sharply pulls Jaina upright, entwines her left arm with Jaina’s right and leads her away through the hallways with firm steps. They walk down a flight stairs, up another one and then down again until Katherine leads her daughter over one of the walkways between the castle’s towers. To Jaina it’s all a haze, until she gets plopped down onto an armchair in her mother’s study. Katherine shoves a cup of warm tea into her hands, swiftly closes the heavy green curtains and sits down in a smaller chair in front of her.

‘What happened, Jaina?’ she asks.

‘S-she left, she ran away. We had a fight, I think… I think I messed up, or failed to notice her distress…’ Jaina rubs over her face without really cleaning away the tears, smearing them over her cheeks and further into her eyes. She looks down at her tea, taking a small sip. The warm liquid heats her body, slightly lessening her distress. Then she sees her mother look at her from over the ridge of her cup, eyes probing like daggers.

‘A fight, you said?’ Katherine asks sharply. ‘Did she strike you, Jaina?’

Well she struck the wall above my head, Jaina thinks, trying to look anywhere but her mother’s glare. If she had wanted to, she could have crushed my skull with that same blow. ‘No, she didn’t… she didn’t strike me.’

‘Did she threaten to strike you? And did she threaten you with anything else? Who knows what she has at her disposal.’ Katherine looks ready to jump up from her chair and man the Proudmoore fleet herself, sail to wherever Sylvanas has gone and personally choke the life out of her. Her shoulders are notably tensed, back as straight as a ship’s mast.

Jaina merely shakes her head. Her tears have stopped flowing, all that is left are the traces on her cheeks and her stinging eyes. ‘Mother, it… it’s alright. She did not threaten me.’ By herself, she thinks that it’s strange for Sylvanas not to slip a sly threat into her words. Yet the elf had been livid, not the kind of cunning, bitter anger that Jaina was familiar with. ‘She yelled at me, punched the wall and then she flew away into the corridor. I couldn’t follow, as she’s simply too quick in that banshee form.’

Katherine relaxes sightly. She leans close to Jaina, threading her fingers into her hair. The braid has become partially undone. ‘You have plaster in your hair,’ she dryly comments while roughly brushing it out of her daughter’s locks.

Mutely, Jaina bends her head so her mother can remove it completely. ‘I will send someone to repair the wall. In the meantime, please make yourself look presentable.’

‘Must we speak about what happened, Mother?’

‘Well, the exact details of what transpired between you two are none of my business. As long as she did not injure you, that is.’ Katherine straightens her greatcoat and brushes the flakes of plaster off her gloves. ‘But you need to find out where she is. The peace will not last when there is hostility between you and your wife. I will return shortly, so we may speak about how to go about this. If you want to take my council.’

Quietly nodding, Jaina says: ‘As Lord Admiral, it is probably advisable to listen to you.’

Her mother makes her way to the door with brisk steps, boots resoundingly clacking on the floor. ‘As my daughter, it’s most of all. When your very own lover runs away in such distress, you ought to do something, Jaina. Who knows what that banshee’s mind gets up to when she is left alone to seethe?’

She closes the door, leaving Jaina to herself.

After draining her cup with lukewarm tea, the mage lets her hair out of the braid. She leans back into the chair and looks at her surroundings to quiet her mind. The study that her mother dragged her to is in the tower across from the one where she and Sylvanas have their living quarters. When she became Lord Admiral, her mother had offered to retreat to smaller quarters somewhere else in the Keep, but Jaina had insisted that she would keep these. Instead of a smaller living room, bathroom, a bedroom directly adjacent to it and a staircase up to the top of the tower, her mother’s living space is somewhat smaller.

The study is huge, with maps lining the walls and a table big enough to hold conferences on. Next to the window, underneath the dormer is a little space much like in Jaina’s chambers. Her mother has placed a smaller, dark wooden desk there, which is neatly organized with fresh parchments and an array of writing utensils. Jaina knows that there is another room in the space between the top of the tower and the study. The ceiling is thus considerably lower than in her own quarters. And the bedroom is much smaller too.

Standing up on her still shaky legs, Jaina walks to the bathroom next to the study. When she looks into the mirror, some ghost stares back at her. Tear tracks on her face, reddened eyes, eyelashes stuck together with drying tears. No wonder her mother said that she did not look presentable.

She discards her black gloves, shucks out of her coat and carelessly lets it fall to the floor. With some soap she cleans most of the dried leftovers from her tears away. If only I could wash away my dread as easily, she thinks. The heavy feeling in her chest, threatening to blossom into another headache and a night of fitfully tossing around in her bed, feels much like how she had felt for months after Theramore. After the trial of Garrosh. After being betrayed on the Kul Tiran streets after only just arriving. Without noticing, she has rested her elbows onto the sink and is leaning into her hands. Her palms feel cold to the touch, though she can imagine how warm they must feel to Sylvanas.

‘Jaina! They are repairing the plaster in your rooms. It will take some time until it’s finished, but I said that they must be done before midnight.’ Her mother’s voice shakes her out of her thoughts. ‘Where are you? Don’t tell me you have ran off now too.’

‘I’m in the bathroom, mother. I was… trying to wash my face a bit.’ Hastily, Jaina grabs her gloves and coat, joining her mother in the study once more.

‘A good choice.’ Katherine is trying to kindle a fire in the hearth. ‘You looked ghastly.’

With a huff of breath, Jaina casts a fire in the hearth. It causes her mother to step back from the now comfortably warm flames and draw her eyebrows up. ‘It is so useful when your daughter is a mage,’ she sighs, then points at a small silver tray on the big, round table in the middle of the room. ‘Eat, and tell me where she ran off to.’

‘Not at the same time, I hope.’ A wry chuckle escapes Jaina’s throat. She sits down besides the plate, and Katherine joins her shortly after. They look oddly small together, sitting by the huge table that’s usually used for councils. It dawns on her that her mother rarely spends time off, not writing letters, drawing maps or talking with advisors. She dearly hopes that she isn’t interfering with any planned appointments. Though if she were, her mother would not speak so much as a word about it to her.

The food she brought, fresh goat cheese with slices of apple on toasted bread, happens to be her favorite snack since her childhood. After a few comforting bites, she sighs and says: ‘To be quite honest, I have no idea where she went. Though, going off on how distressed she was, I think it’s safe to say that she isn’t on Kul Tiras anymore.’

‘Well then, let us consider the options.’ Katherine wryly shakes her head when Jaina offers her some of the cheese as well. She counts them down on one purple-gloved hand. ‘The Undercity, or what remains of it, Orgrimmar, Silvermoon… ah, perhaps her Spire. Are there any others?’

‘Sylvanas dislikes going to Silvermoon and Windrunner Spire,’ Jaina admits. ‘Orgrimmar or  the Undercity are the most likely places.’

‘The repairs of Lordaeron are underway, so in theory she could stay there, indeed.’

‘Yes. So… over which sea did she go?’ Jaina forlornly laughs, nearly ready to cry again.

‘There is only one way to go about that. Send messages to both cities. Covertly of course. The more of this mess gets out to the public, the more they will prattle about it.’ Katherine is quick to decide. She shoots Jaina a questioning look, meaning it as council. Even if Jaina had the option to dismiss the statements, she wouldn’t.

‘I will instruct the Spymaster to send a messenger to either city,’ she promises.

~~~~~

When she goes to him, the next day, Jaina is even more tired than the evening prior. Sleep had evaded her for hours, alone in the empty bed. And when she finally fell into a slumber, it had been filled with nothing but dreams about Sylvanas’ banshee form, her hallowed shrieks and blazing red eyes.

Yet before she can get any further than the courtyard of Proudmoore Keep, she is called. ‘Lady Proudmoore,’ a voice to her left says.

In the shadows underneath the gallery that surrounds the perimeter of the courtyard, a hooded figure stands. Wary, Jaina prepares the runes for a shielding spell. Should she be attacked, she could summon it in the blink of an eye.

But she is handed a small scroll, tossed by the figure. Red flashes briefly when they shift in the shadows, a single beam of light briefly illuminating their rogue’s outfit. ‘It already went through the hands of Spymaster Shaw, you’ve got nothing to worry about,’ they state.

‘I think I will decide that for myself,’ Jaina says, scanning the outside of the scroll. It’s fine, high quality parchment. There is no adornments, only a red wax seal. It looks somewhat sloppily done, as if the writer was in a hurry. Half a face, tear tracks underneath the eye, various arrows lodged into it. Sylvanas’ forsaken sigil.

As she wants to murmur a hasty thanks to the rogue, she finds the walkway underneath the gallery empty. Even when she steps into the shadows herself, the messenger is nowhere to be found. After a deep breath, she cracks the seal and unfurls the letter.

I have arrived in Orgrimmar. Do not make any advances.

- S

A part of her feels incredibly relieved. Another part feels a growing sense of dread, starting from her chest and slowly building. Sylvanas is safe. She is in the Horde capital. Safe, yet far removed from Jaina, and clearly still enraged.

Still, Jaina knows she must search for a way to help her. Not only out of obligation from their marriage, but also because of her own moral code. And perhaps, above all, because she has seen sides of Sylvanas during their shared dinner that have given her a peek into the woman who still lingers deep within the cold exterior of the undead Warchief.

Having made up her mind, she resumes her journey to the Spymaster of Kul Tiras.

~~~~~

Days drag by. Every morning is another morning in an empty bed, without the slender silhouette of Sylvanas against her in the dark. Without a solid presence besides her to act as assurance when going to meetings and councils. Jaina drags herself through it. Through every difficult discussion at the war table and every icy stare she receives from parties less favorable to her. She forces herself to give Anduin a kind smile when he says that she is doing well on her own. Strangely, none of the Horde emissaries say a word about the tensions between their Warchief and herself. Jaina assumes that they have either been commanded to keep quiet about it or that they don’t know the full extent of the conflict.

Three days turn to four, then five. Still she has no replies to her covertly sent message. She starts to wonder if the Spymaster found it such an insane idea that he decided not to have it sent to every corner of Azeroth. Until on the evening of the sixth day, a servant hands her a folded scrap of paper when she makes her way up to her chambers. It is even more hastily written than Sylvanas’ letter. Blue ink splatters are all over the parchment, a signature is nowhere to be found. The only thing she has to go by is the note itself.

I might know someone who can help her. I can’t tell you anything like this. Meet me after dark in the sea cave to the west of the city. The big one, with the half-rotten sailboat in it, you know where I mean. I’ll be there every evening for a week, but don’t wait too long.

The handwriting is strangely curly, yet shaky and stark all the same. It reminds Jaina a bit of Sylvanas’ handwriting. So, an elf has offered their help? she wonders.

It is the only chance I have, perhaps the only one I will ever get, Jaina thinks as she doubts over whether to go or not. It could just as well be a trap, an ambush or some fool who thinks they can help her. Yet the note passed through Shaw’s hands, so she has an odd trust in its validity. The very next evening, she dresses herself in dark blue breeches, a thick black tunic and an equally dark cloak trimmed with brown fur. She puts on a pair of sturdier boots and portals to outside the city gates. The cave in question is a place where she used to play as a child often. By high tide, only a small rock ledge in the back does not get submerged. When it’s ebb-tide there’s is a pebbled beach.

To who have I spoken about that cave? she thinks while clambering over the seaside rocks of the cliffside. My brother, naturally, we played there together. Some childhood friends, Flynn, perhaps? Oh, Vereesa too.

The entrance to the cave is smaller and tighter than she remembers. She has to roll her cloak into a bundle under her arm so it does not get stuck on the rocks. When she has managed to squeeze herself through the opening, she has to jump down from a ledge to land on the pebbles below. The creak underneath her boots, a sound that reverberates loudly within the cave. In the middle of the cave, slightly above the tide line, the overturned sailboat is still there. It used to be owned by the Proudmoores, until it had become stuck in the beach one day. The hull had been damaged and her father hadn’t bothered to dislodge it. Instead he had bought her a new one.

‘H-hello! Anybody there?’ she shakily calls out into the dark cave. Her voice echoes back to her and she is briefly distracted by a memory of herself and her father, yelling as loudly into the cave as they could to get a good echo.

‘Jaina Proudmoore. I’m glad you found the time.’ A shadow rights itself up from behind the sailboat. A hood is pulled down, revealing two slightly glowing eyes, a pair of long ears and blonde hair that reflects the moonlight. Green and golden scales shimmer on the elf’s armor as she reveals herself fully, walking up to Jaina over the rocks.

Jaina yelps, clasping her hands in front of her mouth and dropping her rolled-up cape from underneath her arm. As she hastily picks it up before it gets wet on the slightly moist rocks, she breathes, still startled: ‘Alleria! Gods above, you scared me!’

‘Well, you asked for a covert message. I figured I shouldn’t try to portal into your rooms.’ The void elf stands tall in front of Jaina. Her tattoos seem to twist the shadows on her face into all sorts of twirls. ‘Is everything in this cave moist or can we sit somewhere?’

‘It gets like that after high tide, it will take some time to dry.’ Jaina folds her cape twice and offers the elf to sit on it.

Alleria sits down, one leg outstretched, the other bent at the knee. She leans on her hands behind her, heavy bow lying on the rocks to the side. ‘So… in your message you said you wanted to help my sister with regaining her… her life ?’

Jaina blushes when she hears it, feeling the heat creep up in her ears. ‘Yes. It sounds rather stupid when you say it aloud.’

‘It’s a noble thought, Jaina,’ Alleria kindly corrects her. She sighs, long and deeply. A faint smile lights up her face. It makes the eldest Windrunner sister look notably more relaxed. She surely isn’t as tense and on the verge of anger as she had been during the Siege of Lordaeron. The constant twitching of her muscles is gone from her face and her expression isn’t bordering on anguish and panic anymore. She looks rather tranquil, in fact.

‘So Sylvanas has been giving you trouble?’

‘Ehm, well… yes?’ Jaina quickly stops staring at the new scar on the bridge of Alleria’s nose. ‘It was more like… one outburst after weeks of sullen silence.’

‘She used to do that too… in Quel’thalas. One would expect her to grow out of it. But I suppose the undead curse digs up morose characteristics, huh?’

‘I guess so, indeed.’ Jaina fiddles with the hem of her tunic until she finds the courage to speak up again: ‘Do you perhaps know why she suddenly seemed to have time to ponder so endlessly on her lack of… lifelike characteristics? She spoke about wanting warmth, a heartbeat, breathing, amongst various things.’

At Alleria’s thoughtful hum, she quickly adds: ‘And please, keep this a secret, this is-’

‘Volatile information, I am aware. I keep a lot of secrets already, you can trust me with this one, too.’ A shimmer of darkness waves over Alleria’s face for a split second. It is gone before Jaina can properly focus on it and she only really notices it when Alleria murmurs: ‘No, be quiet you. I’ll keep this secret and we will not endanger my sister.’

She flashes a smile and turns fully to Jaina, leaning on her one arm while gesturing to her forehead with the other. ‘I am sorry, it’s the voices… I can get rid of them now, but sometimes they still act up. Regardless… about Sylvanas-’ she takes a deep breath.

‘When my sister was forcefully brought back into a life of anguish, became warchief, ruled the Horde, she did not have much time to ponder over her… well, lack of feelings.’

‘Sylvanas doesn’t have a lack of feelings, I assure you.’ Jaina still remembers the look of rage and anguish on Sylvanas’ face when she smashed her fist into the wall.

‘Hmm, perhaps not. Perhaps it is more akin to a lack of possibilities to express them. But now that she spends time with you, is relieved of the duties of war and has no grand battles to fight, she can no longer distract herself as much.’

Alleria leans forward and pokes a gloved finger into Jaina’s clothed shoulder. ‘You, your presence, reminds her of what true life has to offer. I myself had plenty of time to think about what I missed when the void threatened to swallow me into eternal cold and darkness. But someone helped me bring balance to myself. And when I saw your letter, I was reminded of my own… quite miserable state, when I dragged myself up the steps of the Ruby Sanctum, closer to death than to life.’

She pauses, eyes half-lidded and downcast. Jaina sees her face briefly contract very subtly, as if she is bracing herself.

‘They… the voices got to me. Running away into that frozen wasteland was all I could do to avoid going on a rampage through more densely populated areas. I suppose I was lucky that I ended up on her doorstep… Albeit half frozen to death, hacking up blood and with gods know how many wounds.’

‘Who?’ Jaina is quick to ask, now very curious about the rest of the story.

‘The Dragon Queen herself. The Life-Binder, former red aspect. Alexstrasza from the Red Dragonflight.’ Alleria shows her a red, dragon head-shaped ring on her left index finger. ‘She took care of me for… it must have been weeks. Working a careful combination of healing magic, potions, warmth and compassion into my body, until I was able to find balance within myself. Precarious at first, but I never fully relapsed into madness.’

Her ears droop, but laxly, not in pain or distress. The mere mention of the Dragon Queen’s name seems to exude calmness to Alleria. ‘Which brings me to my point: Alexstrasza may not possess all the regeneration powers she used to bear as the Red Aspect, but she could heal me, even when the void had ingrained itself within my bones. While I am not sure how related that is to Sylvanas’ condition… she would at least be able to advise my sister.’

‘She sounds very wise…’ Jaina says while looking at the ring. She notices more little additions to Alleria’s outfit. The glint of red gemstones on her pauldrons, a new belt with curling dragon figures. She even has a golden ring through her eyebrow, which has a tiny red ruby embedded into it. ‘So you keep her… close, don’t you?’

‘As close as I can, while I am attending duties elsewhere,’ Alleria admits while breaking into a full smile. Then she suddenly turns serious again. ‘Though she might have something to say about the atrocities that Sylvanas committed. She is the Life-Binder after all, the guardian of all life on Azeroth.’

They sit in silence for some time, while Jaina considers the elder Windrunner’s words. She traces the outlines of rounded pebbles on the beach next to her, smoothed by countless rising and falling tides. ‘It was going to be a risky undertaking, regardless of the Queen’s opinions about Sylvanas. Do you think she might… deny us entrance to the Red Sanctum?’  

‘Nothing I can safely assure you, Jaina. We never spoke much about my family. Alexstrasza said she was shocked by what my sister did to Teldrassil, but that is all I ever heard from her about it. If Sylvanas lets her aggressive, arrogant side get the better of her, she might be unwilling to offer anything but repercussions. I am uncertain about the exact reaction you will get from my beloved.’

‘Suppose it depends on the circumstances…’ Jaina muses. She yawns into her sleeve, to which Alleria laughs.

‘We ought to get back to our beds. I shall send a message to Alexstrasza that you will be on your way to her soon. Also-’ she turns to the mage, eyes shimmering in the moonlight. The tattoo over her eye cuts a path of shadow over her face, and a single line of void waves from side to side over her mouth and chin. ‘Do not let Sylvanas simmer in her anger for long. She will only get more resentful the longer you leave her to drown in her loathing.’

She stands and pulls Jaina to her feet with a single strong arm. The ease and strength take Jaina aback for a moment, dazed until she remembers to pick up her cape and fold it again. Blushing and thankful the coverage of darkness, she turns to Alleria once more.

‘I’ll see you in the sanctum, perhaps?’

‘If I find the time, I shall try,’ the elf assures her. ‘Until we meet again, Jaina.’

She picks up her bow, waves to the mage and steps backwards through a void portal. Very briefly, Jaina can spy the inside of a tavern room in what she thinks to be Stormwind inside the portal. Then it closes and she is left alone within the cave. The tide is starting to swell, so before long she too creates a portal to whisk herself back to her bedroom. Her wards let her through, as she had set up the runes.

That night is less restless than the ones prior. She still dreams about shrieking wraiths, icy wastelands and a grey skull with blood red eyes, but is able to wake herself quickly this time.

The following day, she leaves for Orgrimmar. A new kind of determination is set within her. She tilts her chin up as she looks at herself in the bedroom mirror, tugging on the collar of her dark teal coat until it stands up and ends halfway between her jawbone and chin. Underneath, she has chosen to wear a simple cotton shirt, tucked into her black, high waisted trousers, secured with a leather belt decorated with golden swirls. Around her under arms she secures leather vambraces. Simply wrought out of one piece of dark brown leather, but with enough buckles to confuse her. A pair of classic black gloves complete her ensemble.

She takes her staff with her, dusting off the hilt and testing if the flow of magic still runs smoothly through it. Perfect, it works as clockwork.

Early in the morning as it is, she tries to avoid people when on her way to the portal room. Yet still, as with last time she tried to walk out of the Keep, she gets no further then the castle courtyard. In fact, she is blocked in the grand hall this time. Looking very much out of place in between the grey stones, green banners and stammering servants, stands a very irritated Tyrande Whisperwind, with an entire regimen of night elf sentinels in her wake.

Underneath their leather helmets, they look as nervous as the Keep’s servants, long ears twitching despite the warmth of the castle’s halls. The only one seemingly not jittering in place is the single Warden closing the ranks. If Jaina didn’t know every inch of the Keep from memory, she would have thought the figure was a statue. The High Priestess is gesturing angrily at the servant, demanding to speak to the Lord Admiral.

‘I have arrived, Lady Whisperwind,’ Jaina says somewhat timidly. Why in Azeroth is she here? she thinks.

‘Finally!’ Tyrande exclaims, marching towards  Jaina in a flurry of white and purple. From closeby, she towers over Jaina, who very nearly flinches back. The Priestess’ darkened eyes are wide open as she rapidly starts asking questions.

‘What in Elune’s name is going on between you and that Banshee? Why are my recovered undead elves refusing to speak about it? Where is she? What does this entail for our faction? Will the wars start all over again?’

The group of sentinels is nervously eyeing Jaina, leaning out of their rows to see her better. They do not seem ready for another war, she notes. Only the Warden has not moved but an inch. ‘Well?’ The Night Warrior is close to jabbing Jaina in the shoulder with an accusing finger.

‘N-no, not at all!’ she stutters. ‘The… tension between Sylvanas and me is purely personal, I assure you. She is in… I- I am going to her right now. I was planning on leaving the castle, in fact.’

‘Do you realise just how much this sounds like a threat? A lover does not just leave their wife all of the sudden.’ Tyrande’s mouth is drawn up in a snarl, green braids sweeping over her shoulder and back with every furious move of her head.

Well look who’s to say that, Jaina thinks, remembering stories about the Emerald Dream and night elven men. She holds her tongue though, further angering the High Priestess does not seem wise. ‘It’s not a threat, I swear,’ she mutely says, hand clenched tightly around the handle of her staff.

‘If you do not make sure she does not betray the pact, I will act. I will not stop by the King’s grace this time, if she starts waging her spiteful war again!’ Tyrande snaps back.

‘She will not start ag-’

‘Then why did she suddenly leave you?’

‘Listen, I really must go to her, I must leave now-’

‘As her wife, you are partially responsible for-’

‘Go to her then, Lord Admiral,’ a raspy voice cuts off both of them in the middle of her sentences.

At first, Jaina is not sure who had spoken. Only when Tyrande rights herself up and one of her ears swivels backwards to the voice, she knew.

The Warden behind the Night Warrior, tall and imposing in her suit of gold-adorned armor. If not for the somewhat feminine tilt in her voice and her knowledge on night elven culture, Jaina had sworn it was a man. And the warden had not so much as inclined her head when speaking, still standing behind the anxious sentinels like a silent statue, unmoving save for the occasional breath.

She makes a small bow to the figure, even when the Sentinel standing next to the Warden sharply hisses something in Darnassian. ‘Thank you, I am grateful for your understanding, Warden…?’

‘Shadowsong,’ the armored woman says. Her voice drops an octave, becoming even more gravelly in the process.

Jaina holds back a gasp. This woman is a living legend. ‘Renowned Warden Shadowsong, I once again thank-’

‘Enough,’ Tyrande says, sternly shifting around to look at Shadowsong. ‘Do not interfere in business that does not concern you, Warden.’

Shadowsong seemily takes no notice of her, shoulders aside the smaller Sentinel general and walks past Tyrande. Her cape drags over the ground, and when she is standing in front of Jaina, her figure looms huge over the smaller human mage. ‘Go to her, Lady Proudmoore,’ she repeats.

Behind her, Tyrande steps forward to grab the Warden’s arm and make her retreat. No sooner has she taken hold of the armored arm or Shadowsong jerks it out of her grasp. ‘Maiev Shadowsong-’ Tyrande starts, on the verge of outrage. ‘Who do you think commands-’

‘This isn’t about us, Tyrande. Not about us night elves, not about our lands, not about Teldrassil.’ If Maiev’s voice had sunken any lower, Jaina would have had trouble discerning the words from beneath her helmet. She swallows a lump in her throat as Shadowsong turns her armored body into her direction, metal chinking against more metal.

One clawed glove comes out from underneath the heavy green cloak, grasps the underside of her helmet and lifts it up a few inches. Just enough for Jaina to spy the underside of the Warden’s face. Purple skin, a shade lighter than Tyrande’s, snarly expression, longer fangs than Sylvanas. At least three scars cross what little she can see of cheek, chin and mouth. One cleaves her upper lip in two, running from the underside of the nose to over her chin. The Warden’s eyes glow a dimmed white within the shadows of her helmet.

‘There are enough tortured souls in Azeroth,’ Maiev states. ‘ Go to her , don’t add another.’

Jaina can do nothing but nod dumbly as Shadowsong shifts the helmet back over the underside of her face, covering it once more. Her eyes still seem to bore into Jaina’s soul, giving her a long, unbroken stare before the Warden inclines her head in a near indiscernible bow.

‘What that banshee does is your responsibility, Lady Proudmoore. If she causes problems akin to what she has wrought upon my people, I will not hesitate to leap into action against her,’ Tyrande says as she turns on her heels and marches towards the doors. The Sentinels jump into position, forming two neat rows behind her, equally aloof. Warden Shadowsong gives Jaina one more look from behind her helmet, before brandishing her glaive and closing the rows of night elves with her impressive stature.

When they have departed, Jaina takes a relieved breath, wipes beads of sweat off her forehead and shakes the tension out of her arms. She is most likely being eyed by a few servants for acting oddly, but she does not care.

Though when she makes her way to the portal room, she cannot help but look over her shoulder several times to make sure no one is tailing her. The Warden unnerved her beyond bounds. If she could get Tyrande to shut up… who is the real powerhouse in the night elf regimens? What does Tyrande even hope to gain with all her yelling? And why does Shadowsong want to keep the peace? she thinks.

There are enough tortured souls in Azeroth…  

Maiev’s words, her scarred face and intimidating stature still haunt her as she arrives in the portal room of Orgrimmar. The eyes from the few Horde’s people scattered about in the room are immediately drawn to her. Jaina gulps. Maybe I should have disguised myself, she thinks when she sees the distrust in their eyes. But it is much too late for that now.

A blood elf walks up to her. ‘Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras…’ he says with a low bow. ‘I assume you are here to see the Warchief?’

Jaina inclines her head. ‘Indeed I am… I suspect that she is still pensive?’

She winces and immediately thinks: I should not have asked that. A suitably dark look is shot at her from underneath the elf’s hood.

‘She has not been seen for days. I shall escort you to the Hold.’

‘A-alright,’ In response, she pulls her collar up higher and tries to avoid his eyes. Everything feels awkward, from the walk to Grommash Hold to the foul looks she gets from the guards. The blood elf leaves her alone in one of the Hold’s halls. Sylvanas’ chambers are upstairs from the rounded throne room, yet she is scared to go up.

A sudden wave of uncertainty washes over her. What is Sylvanas just outright refuses to speak to her? What if she has talked to Alleria for naught?

She is so caught up in her thoughts, twirling in useless circles in the throne room that she only hears the heavy footsteps approaching when they are right behind her. She whirls around, brandishing her staff.

‘I hope you weren’t thinking about attacking me,’ the hulking figure of High Overlord Saurfang says. ‘... Lady Proudmoore,’ he adds, a bit late.

‘Not at all, Overlord,’ Jaina assures him with a small bow before rising to her full length. She is determined not to cower in front of the orc. ‘I am here to speak to my wife.’

‘The Warchief doesn’t want to speak to you.’ Saurfang shrugs somewhat apologetically.

‘I had gathered as much… but I must talk to her,’ Jaina says, still not casting her gaze down, wanting to look him into his eyes. ‘Even if she’ll have my head.’

Saurfang bares a few teeth as he grunts a laugh. ‘I’m not sure if she will be so mild. But she is in her quarters.’ He nods to the staircase behind the throne, then tilts his head, clearly expecting her to take her leave.

And she does, steeling herself before walking up the staircase. A set of double doors bars the entrance between the short corridor and the Warchief’s rooms. Jaina knocks with the bottom of her staff. She waits, counts to ten, then knocks again.

‘I said, no one must enter!’ Sylvanas throws open the doors, eyes blazing as she spits the words at Jaina. Then her eye go wide, face no less enraged. Her hair hangs in disheveled plucks off her head, cluttered and clearly not brushed for several days. She is dressed only in a half buttoned nightshirt and dark brown, loose-fitting trousers. A filthy bandage is wrapped around her left hand, splotched with black ichor.

The sight of her disarrayed lover, with her unkempt hair and signs of distress painted all over her features nearly drives Jaina to tears again. Sylvanas’ long ears are pressed into her neck, her mouth is drawn back into a cross between a snarl and a gasp.

‘Oh Tides…’ Jaina whispers. ‘Sylvanas, I am so, so utterly sorry.’

The elf answers her with by pulling her roughly into her quarters, slamming the doors shut and forcing her against the wall, trapped in between her body and the uneven plaster. ‘What are you doing here ?’ she hisses, rasping and shaking Jaina by her shoulder. ‘And why, by the Gods, why did I get a note from Alleria of all people, saying that you were on your way? What are you planning, Jaina?’

Unable to form words par for more stuttered apologies, Jaina is shaking like a leaf in Sylvanas’ grasp. She drops the staff, grasping first at her own face, then at Sylvanas’ arms. The Warchief immediately retreats, turning sharply and going back to the room she came from, dragging her bare feet over the floor as she walks. ‘Go away, leave. Go back to your city and do not plan things behind my back,’ she grinds.

‘We can’t live like this, Sylvanas,’ Jaina says. Every breath she takes is starting to sting in her throat with tears.

Without even pausing her gait, Sylvanas answers: ‘I can. I can live like this perfectly fine.’

‘But I can’t…’ Hesitation takes over Jaina once again. She wants to walk after Sylvanas, but is put off by the aura of depression that the elf practically breathes.

Sylvanas turns around to face Jaina, hand grasping the doorframe, but not opening the door to what Jaina presumes to be a bedroom. ‘Why would someone like you need something like me?’ she snaps.

‘You’re not a “something”. Please, please don’t think that! I… I’m- I can’t…’ Jaina’s sentence peters off into a painful sob.

‘I can’t sit in Kul Tiras, knowing you’re here and you’re unhappy and… and that you want to be alive and warm and breathing,’ she says, hiccuping and trying her hardest to hold back the tears she feels pricking behind her eyes. ‘I’m only human, Sylvanas. I cannot bear that. I know who you are underneath, since I’ve seen it when were were eating.’

Sylvanas seems frozen on the doorstep. She has opened the door, but isn’t entering the room behind it. Her head is tilted to the floor, expression blank and unreadable.

‘I'm sorry, truly. If I had known what peril you were in, I would have tried to offer you some more comfort.’ Jaina cannot stop her tears from trickling over her face, salt stinging in her her eyes.

‘Comfort?’ Sylvanas mutters. ‘What does that entail, then?’

‘More sweets? Trying to coax you into physical contact? I don't know, but we would have figured something out.’ Jaina shrugs and wipes her eyes with the hard leather of her vambraces. ‘And perhaps we would have undertaken the very same steps as I've gone through now. Sending letters, contacting Alleria… but more… together. In cooperation.’

Something in Sylvanas’ composure breaks. A tiny twinge of tension escaping from her hunched shoulders. ‘What are you planning, Jaina?’ she asks again, opening the door fully and hastily waving for Jaina to come in.

As she suspected, it is a bedroom. Compared to the Lord Admiral’s chambers, the Warchief’s rooms are small. The study and the bedroom to the left of it are only separated by a curtain, which is opened, leaving the messy bed on full display. A set of windows offers a view of the city. The door to a small bathroom is also open, showing the edge of a bathtub and a sink with a cracked mirror above it.

‘I need a map to show you that,’ Jaina timidly says while leaning her staff against the desk to the right of the window. ‘A map of Azeroth.’

She has so many other things to ask. What did Alleria write? What happened to her hand? What did she say to the other Horde leaders about the tension? But what she ends up saying is: ‘Sylvanas… your hair, your clothing… can I help you-’

‘I’ll do something about it. Maps are in the drawer of the desk.’ Sylvanas curtly says before grabbing a seemingly random garment from the closet next to the bed and marching into the bathroom, firmly closing the door. She hears a tap run inside.

When she is studying the map, Sylvanas emerges from the bathroom. Her wet hair is pulled back in a high ponytail. She is still wearing the same loose trousers, but now with boots and a sleeveless black doublet over a white shirt.

Jaina swallows a lump in her throat and rubs her sore eyes once more. She taps on the map, on the continent to the north of Kul Tiras. ‘The Ruby Sanctum. Alleria advised me, or rather us, to go there. To seek the advice of Alexstrasza the Life-Binder,’ she summarizes her conversation with the eldest Windrunner sister. ‘She dragged Alleria back from a void-induced madness. Your sister said she had wounds all over her body and that Alexstrasza healed her with magic and what not.’

‘So Alleria thinks that the dragon can heal me too? I am not infected by the void. My curse is of a different nature entirely.’ Sylvanas stands behind her, only marginally leaning over her shoulder. Her posture still speaks of tension and indifference.

‘I know that. Alleria knows that. She said something in that vein. But the Dragon Queen is wise, she knows like no other what life entails. At least she can advise you on how to cope with your… longing?’

‘We shall undertake the journey then,’ Sylvanas dryly says. She steps back from the table and quirks her eyebrows expectantly at Jaina, as if to say “now leave my chambers”.

‘Do you believe me?’ Jaina quietly asks, eyes still on the map, but unfocused. ‘Do you believe that I’m sorry.’

Sylvanas’ face scrunches up for a moment, before she looks at Jaina, face open in a kind of vulnerability that Jaina was not expecting. ‘You… you idiot. You risked being blamed for conspiracy against me, by meeting with Alleria. You did that for me, because you thought I would… appreciate it, without even knowing for certain.’

She seems torn between trying to remain angry and giving in to her sadness.

‘A risk I had to take, otherwise I couldn’t get through to you again.’ Jaina lifts her gaze from the map. Cold shivers run up and down her spine.

‘A foolish gamble, Jaina. But indeed… such things are necessary sometimes. Yes, I believe you. And… we… We cannot live-’ Sylvanas has trouble finishing the sentence pressing her lips together in a tight line, staring at her feet.

Jaina grabs one of her hands. The bandaged one. ‘Shh, you don’t need to say it. This is my apology, not yours.’

She pulls Sylvanas closer, until they stand side by side at the desk. After a soft squeeze of her hand and feeling Sylvanas’ immoving ribcage press against her side, she continues: ‘We will depart from Boralus. By boat. I will first portal us as far out to sea as I can. Then we will sail to our midway point.’

Jaina taps sharply on the map, features twisting into a worried look. With a little waver in her voice she says: ‘The Broken Shore.’

Sylvanas stands impassively behind her, one hand tightening in Jaina’s, the other one staunchly on her back. ‘That is hardly midway.’

‘It's the closest from where I can portal us anywhere close to the Red Sanctum. I cannot cross the entire world per portal. It is also the… one of the safest, most undetectable places I could think of. The coast is mostly abandoned on the southeastern side of the island.’

Sylvanas concedes, slowly nodding. Her chest muscles cramp strangely underneath her tunic. Jaina realizes that she is trying to do a relieved breath. ‘When will we depart?’ she asks, voice sounding a bit choked from her attempts at forcing her body to take in air, something she is still unable to do.

‘In two days? We both need to… talk. To a lot of people. Try to keep the exact locations and reasons of our endeavor somewhat of a secret? I already know two people who are most certainly against it.’

‘Who, pray tell? Who of our allies could possibly be against that?’ Sylvanas mouths Whisperwind in a hushed voice.

‘Indeed, but at least one of her Wardens seems to be on my side. The other one would be your ranger-lord.’

‘Or Saurfang, who is still keeping a close eye on me. Or my younger sister, who never likes anything I do anymore. Or… the remainder of the high elves in Silvermoon.’

‘Who are busy renovating their city, so I don’t think word even got out to them.’

Sylvanas actually laughs at that, a quiet snort through her nose. ‘Then, dalah’surfal, will I see you within two days by Proudmoore Keep?’

Her eyes fly open wide when she realizes what she said. She lets go of Jaina’s hand to bring her closed fist to her lips. A silent Thalassian curse leaves her mouth.

‘Actually, my beloved, I was wondering if would you let me sleep here, one night? Before we both must speak to people?’ Jaina boldly suggests.

Her lover’s mouth drops open in a quiet “oh”. She looks at the messy bed, then back to Jaina. ‘This bed… wasn't made for the two of us. The Warchief before me never had an official wife, so he never had a second bed, or a bigger bed here…’ she trails off, flapping one hand at the bed and bowing her head in some kind of embarrassment. ‘I don’t sleep, so you could have it for tonight.’  

‘Why don’t we sleep there together? Or get some rest, in your case.’

Sylvanas’ ears swivel downwards, face turning sour. ‘Must you do this? Make me lie against your warm body again? You know now how it makes me feel.’

‘Then see it as a promise of what is to come. Hopefully. Now-’ Jaina laughs lightly and flicks her eyebrows up and down. ‘Who is going to lie on top? Me or you?’ She cannot hold back her laugh and erupts into a snort.  

If Sylvanas could have blushed, she would, most definitely. ‘What do you mean, “on top”? The bed is-’

‘I’m nowhere near as slender as you, there is no way we fit in there comfortably without bodily contact.’ Jaina pats herself on her waist and hips. ‘I'm not going to sleep on the floor, Sylvanas. And neither will you. I am also not going to awkwardly scrunch myself into a corner of the bed and fall off halfway through the night.’

She pokes Sylvanas into her arm and adds with a note of finality: ‘And neither will you.’

‘I am sure we can work something out,’ Sylvanas says in a bashful tone that Jaina links to her shame about her body and longing for warmth and breath. Then she shoots a quick look outside.

‘There are a few more hours of sunlight left,’ the elf pensively looks at her wife. ‘Is there anything you want to do before you eat dinner?

‘I want to do something about your hair,’ Jaina poignantly says. ‘Even in that ponytail it looks like a right mess.’

‘ Anar'alah , such lenience, coming from you, Lady Proudmoore,’ Sylvanas sighs.  

A few minutes later though, she is sitting on an armchair by the window. After a quiet complaint about the mess that the previous Warchief had left behind, Sylvanas agreed to drag the chair from where she had stowed it away in a corner to a spot besides the desk.

Jaina stands behind her, brushing her locks with careful movements.

Sylvanas is allowing herself to lean back against Jaina’s arms while the mage brushes her hair. The knots give way after a lot of tugging. It does not hurt, and her hair is not as brittle as it feels.

And Jaina can hardly believe it. She straightens out the last of Sylvanas’ silver-blonde locks, feeling the relative softness of it in between her fingers. The parts closest to her head are the most reminiscent of “living” hair, nearly silky. Near the ends it gets flakier, but doesn’t break under the brush strokes. When she is finished and it cascades over her shoulders as she is used to seeing, Sylvanas does not move. In fact, during the brushing she might have sagged into Jaina’s arms a little more.

The top of her head is near Jaina’s sternum, her long ears nearly reaching Jaina’s shoulders. After the mage has straightened out the last locks of hair and brushed some stray hairs from her forehead, she looks at her work, content. She walks to the bed and chucks the brush onto the sheets with one long throw.

When she returns to Sylvanas, the elf hasn’t moved. She sees her lover tuck a strand of hair behind one of her ears, which moves outwards to the touch. As Jaina takes up her position behind Sylvanas again, she feels one of them twitch against her shoulder when Sylvanas briefly sits up to fold one of her legs underneath her body.

Jaina cannot resist, and slowly reaches out to touch the very tip of the right ear with her fingertip. It twitches instantaneously, not away from her finger but rather to the side, around it, to end up on the outside of her index finger. Then she drags her finger down over the length of it, all the way until she rests her second knuckle where the ear connects to Sylvanas’ head. A full-body shiver goes through the elf.

(Art by Dreamsofjoyfulbunnies @ Tumblr!) 

‘I’m sorry, do I need to stop?’ Jaina asks.

Another shiver, then an answer: ‘I said nothing.’

Grinning widely, Jaina sits down on the side of the chair, behind Sylvanas. She repeats the process on the other ear, until both her index fingers are lying where Sylvanas’ ears meet her head. She feels the skin quiver. When she strokes her fingers back and forth, Sylvanas jerks her head sharply and speaks up:

‘Not so close to the skull, Jaina. It has… a meaning, to touch there.’

‘I shall keep that in mind,’ Jaina says with a smile leaching into her words, as she traces the ears back to the points.

Taking them in between her fingers is not easy, since they constantly jump out of her grasp. And she wants to be tender with the fragile points. When she manages to hold on to the twitching tips, she carefully rubs her fingers in a circle. A somewhat strangled sound escapes the elf. It’s somewhere in between a hiss and a gasp, so Jaina repeats the movement to make it inch more towards the latter. The left ear swivels downwards at her touch, more so than the right. It makes Jaina giggle, and the right one flicks sharply at the offending noise.

‘Stay still, Sylvanas. I cannot give them proper attention like this,’ she laughs.

‘Then don’t try to jam your finger into my ear canal,’ Sylvanas huffs, hunching her shoulders. Both ears now try to shift downwards, only stopped by Jaina’s hands holding them.

She travels up and down the ears, rubbing them between her fingers en eventually using the palms of her hands as well. Careful never to stray too close to the skull and earlobes. A muted huh comes from the elf in front of her when she firmly rubs the middle portion of the ears. She continues there, smiling wider as the twitching muscles relax under her fingers and the long ears droop outwards rather than flatly against Sylvanas’ neck.

The texture of the skin is silky, near velvety soft despite Sylvanas’ undead nature. During Jaina’s ministrations, the elf eventually leans into her further, back resting against Jaina’s knees. The mage is feeling pretty content with herself. She affectionately presses two small kisses to each eartip. Sylvanas doesn’t as much as move. When Jaina leans over her shoulder, she sees to her unabashed surprise that the elf has closed her eyes, mouth half opened in a content smile. ‘Sylvanas,’ she softly says. ‘Sylvanas are you in there?’

‘Hmmm?’

Jaina starts giggling, flicking her fingers against Sylvanas’ left ear. That shakes the elf from her stupor.

‘Are you alright? You were in a trance of some shorts.’

Sylvanas opens her red eyes. Her mouth twitches in and out of her smile, as if she can barely believe that she is still capable of that expression. Her fangs glint in the reddening light of the sun. ‘It is very… comforting. The ears,’ she manages, clearing her throat when it comes out as a rasp. ‘Do you… want to eat? Anything in particular?’

‘Well, I don’t want to be a bother. You can just grab what’s easiest to provide, as long as it is digestible for a human stomach.’ Jaina stands up from the chair, cracking her spine and stretching her arms. Sylvanas stands up too and fixes her clothes, crumpled by the position she had been sitting in.

‘I will get some food for you then. Wait a few minutes, I won’t be long.’ She quickly departs.

Jaina fixes her own slightly askew clothing, eventually discarding the teal coat and boots. She walks up to the bathroom mirror and can’t help it as a wide grin slowly spreads over her face. Spreading her hands and curling them into fists again in front of the mirror, she thinks: these hands rubbed Sylvanas Windrunner’s ears, and she liked it.

The sound of the door opening startles her ever so slightly. There is no real table in the room, so Sylvanas puts a plate and glass down on the desk, moving both chairs to it as well. Dinner consists of simply roasted meat, with little seasonings and only a few scarce plucks of presumably boiled vegetables. Jaina recognizes none of them.

‘It’s eatable, I assure you. At least… I saw Saurfang eat it, so it’s likely to be safe.’

“Eatable” is the right word for it, indeed. The meat a bit dry, the vegetables near tasteless. Jaina thinks that some salt would vastly improve the meal, and perhaps some bread too, to soak up the juices that run out of the meat when she slices it. But she does not complain. As she cuts another slice off, Sylvanas asks:

‘To whom must you speak tomorrow?’

‘To my mother,’ Jaina says after swallowing a bite. ‘- and to Anduin as well.’

By the mention of his name, Sylvanas’ face scrunches up in disdain. ‘If the little lion thinks he can prevent our journey-’

Swiftly, Jaina dismisses the quip: ‘Sylvanas, I am not going to him to see my king. I'm going to speak to someone I know from his childhood onwards. He is nearing his twenties. I am a decade older than him, and then some.’

~~~~~

When they go to bed, and Jaina discards her shirt, Sylvanas stands somewhat awkwardly besides the bed. She has closed the curtains of the windows and the larger one that separates the room from the alcove where the bed is located.

‘Do you want a nightshirt? I have spares,’ she starkly says, looking away from Jaina’s body now that it seems to radiate warmth as never before. In Proudmoore Keep she would often join her wife in the bed when it was dark and Jaina was covered by blankets. Now she cannot truly avoid catching glimpses of the soft expanse of skin. The nightshirt she grabs for Jaina is much too big for her, ending just above her knees. It hangs sloppily beneath her armpits, her arms swimming in the fabric of the sleeves.

‘Well,’ Jaina asks in the same bubbly voice as she has had since they reconciled while looking at the map. ‘Are you going to stand there all night? Are you planning on sleeping… ehm no, resting fully dressed?’ She lays her anchor pendant down on the bedside table and looks expectedly at Sylvanas.

The Banshee Queen turns her back to Jaina with a sharp jerk of her body, unbuttoning her sleeveless black doublet and tossing it on the ground besides the bed. Then she sits down and shucks out of her easy-fitting brown trousers. The bed shifts behind her and she freezes, expecting a hand on her back, shoulder or perhaps her ear. The latter is much preferred. Instead, she hears the rustling of paper behind her. It looks as if Jaina has found the books she keeps on her nightstand.

When she faces the mage again, the elf is dressed in a loose tank top and cotton pants. Jaina is indeed rifling through her books. ‘ Folk Tales from Before the War of the Ancients ? I never thought you would read storybooks,’ she says with a small smile.

‘Well I had to read something after the… events, of last week. It was the first thing I could grab from the selection on my desk.’

‘It’s alright, I am not judging you. In fact, I like to read fairytales myself sometimes.’ Jaina puts the book back onto the nightstand and gets up from the bed. Now they stand on either side of it, both in their nightwear, both unmoving until Jaina somewhat exasperatedly says:

‘Go on, lie down! I’m getting a bit cold here.’

Knowing no better than to shove her shame aside and lie down, Sylvanas does just that. ‘You will be a lot colder soon,’ she mumbles while settling on her back in the bed.

‘Nonsense, we have a blanket and I’m warm enough for the both of us,’ the mage says as she sits down besides Sylvanas’ waist.

Swinging her legs over the elf’s body, she takes note of her tensed stomach and lips, tightly pressed against each other. ‘Relax,’ she murmurs while draping herself over Sylvanas’ body. Her hips don’t quite fit on the bit of mattress that’s not covered by the elf, so she shifts around until Sylvanas gets the message and turns her lower half on her side, giving Jaina a bit more room. She can still lie her head down on Sylvanas’ shoulder, fidgeting until she finds a comfortable spot below the hard edge of her lover’s collarbone. Then she folds her arms, bending at the elbow with her hands slightly above her own head. The left hand rests on Sylvanas’ other shoulder, the right one above it one the mattress.

The undead is silent throughout, waiting until Jaina finishes adjusting her position. She pulls the blanket up so it covers her from the neck down. Even then Sylvanas remains quiet, wordlessly admiring how her wife’s hair is splayed out onto her chest, stray golden hairs mingling with white ones. After a long silence, Jaina laughs, her body shaking softly on Sylvanas’.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything? Nothing about warmth and softness? I nearly expect it by this point.’

Sylvanas wrestles one arm from beneath Jaina and lays it on her lover’s back, fingers splayed over the edge of her shoulder blade. ‘Must I? Is there something you want to hear, then?’ she says. While lying down she can feel a difference in how she speaks and how it works for Jaina, whose throat and chest vibrate softly when talking. For herself, it comes from the back of her mouth, rather than from her dead lungs. The magic which animates her body allows her to speak without using her vocal chords.

‘Nothing specific, I just… I was just thinking about how this truly felt for you. Hope it feels better now we’ve… made up and we’ve got a plan where to go next.’ Jaina lifts her head and puts her chin down on Sylvanas’ sternum. She looks truly adorable in the moment, hair falling all around her like a messy halo, blue eyes half lidded in drowsiness.

‘Lie down, Jaina,’ Sylvanas murmurs as she traces circles with the pad of her thumb along the edge of the mage’s shoulder. With another tired laugh, Jaina concedes and finds a comfortable position once more.

‘I feel… your breath,’ the elf begins. ‘The little puffs against my chest. When you speak, when you just… rest there. You have… so many little movements in your body. How your arms marginally flex when you are trying to find a more comfortable position. The hum in your chest when you speak… the twinge I just felt from your mouth as you’re smiling now.’

Belore, you sound like a lovesick idiot, she thinks to herself, yet goes on, somehow trusting herself with whatever this nonsensical, disgustingly sweet gibberish is that suddenly leaves her mouth. In this moment, this crazy but calm moment in between the rush of the world, where Horde nor Alliance mattered, where there was only Jaina and herself, there was peace. And she chased that peace, hungered for it, craved it.

‘Nearly all things I can barely do. Your warmth… it’s like nothing I can describe properly. I can feel it leaching into my flesh. But only when we are this close do I find… assurance in it.’

She nudges Jaina’s head with a hand under her jawbone. ‘Are you still awake, dalah’surfal ?’

‘ Mmhmm , I like hearing you talk like this. ‘S nice,’ Jaina slurs while leaning into the hand. She pins it between her cheek and Sylvanas’ own chest. ‘Let ‘t be a promise then. We’ll find a way to make it yours. Completely yours, your warmth, again… I heard Alexstrasza can resurrect people.’

‘That seems appropriate for the Life-Binder, Red Aspect and all,’ Sylvanas muses, gently petting Jaina’s hair with her free hand.

‘I think… she’ll surely be able to help you.’ Jaina’s words fade into a yawn and a satisfied noise as she breathes out heavily.

Sylvanas speaks no more. As her lover’s breath gradually gets heavier, she feels a strange relaxation and affection wash over her. Her mouth curls into a smile. Not the fang-baring, slightly unnerving smile she has fitted onto her face for long. It is a smile which does not show any teeth, just an upwards curl of her lips. Jaina makes a noise at every inhale. Not quite a snore, but it sounds quite charming.

The crown of her head is within kissing range, if Sylvanas bends her neck down. And in an impulsive move, she does, briefly pressing her lips against Jaina’s hair in a soft kiss. She withdraws quietly, taking care not to disturb the mage’s slumber. But before long, she hears the sleepy voice on her chest go hrrmm.

‘I felt that,’ Jaina says with a mouth full of cotton.

‘What? You felt nothing.’

‘Sssure…’

She shifts once more, briefly lifting her head to free Sylvanas’ hand, then falling asleep again.

Sylvanas looks on as the last red rays of sunlight fade, no longer shining through the gaps between the curtain and the walls. Finally able to find comfort underneath a breathing body, she basks in the feeling, undisturbed, protected within her chambers, secure with her lover.

A twinge of pain goes through her heart as she remembers how Jaina’s eyes had been red with tears a few hours prior. And in what state she had been herself. An outburst like she had in Kul Tiras, after days of simmering in the confines of her mind and cold body… she thinks it is in her nature as an undead to be quiet about her perils. Undead do not complain about how they feel, for they are lucky to be still present on this world. Or so go the common whispers amongst the Forsaken.

Yet here she is, smiling to herself as she thinks about Jaina’s quiet promise.

Halfway through the night, when her mind stops pondering, she reaches over to her nightstand with one hand. As she flicks the glass of her arcane-powered lamp, a soft orange magelight starts glowing within, the golden runes around the base of the lamp flicker in the night. She then grabs a book, holding it her hand a few inches from her face, keeping the other one underneath the blanket on Jaina’s back. Strategies of the Zandalari Trolls, Their Naval Warfare Throughout the Centuries. A bit boastful, perhaps, but good strategic material to study. Silvermoon never had a decent navy, so it is not her field of expertise, and a bit of brushing up on her knowledge would do her good.

When she finishes the last chapter, fresh rays of sunlight filter through the curtain. Putting the book down again, she shifts just a little underneath the blanket, feeling the warm press of Jaina’s body on hers. As comfortable as it is, she must wake her wife, for they both have a long day in front of them.

‘Jaina,’ she whispers, touching the mage’s cheek with a soft brush of her fingers. ‘ Dalah’surfal, awake.’

The word slips over her lips before she can stop herself. As she quietly berates her lovesick tongue, Jaina lifts her head from her chest. Her mouth is open in stupor, eyes half closed and cheeks puffed up in a slight pout.

‘’S it time already…?’ she sleepily sighs. ‘Lemme lie here for a bit longer.’

‘You must… you must get ready, Jaina. We will have time to lie together. When the promise has been fulfilled.’ Sylvanas props her upper body up on her elbows, causing Jaina’s head to roll off her chest. She ends up on her side, nose buried in Sylvanas’ side, laughing into her nightshirt.

‘Move any further and I’ll fall off the bed on my face,’ she says as she slings her legs off the elf’s.

Sylvanas frowns. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have tried lying like this.’

‘No, it was fine, wasn’t it?’ Jaina rolls into a sitting position and shakily wipes the stray hairs out of her eyes. ‘Isn’t your arm completely dead?’

‘My arm, Jaina, is indeed completely dead.’ Sylvanas pats the flesh of her arm, demonstrating just how dead the grey skin is.

‘Figuratively speaking. You laid it on my back for the entire night.’

‘It has been literal ages since I have felt that kind of odd paralysis.’ Sylvanas too sits up and gets to her feet next to the bed. She opens the curtain, allowing the light of dawn to spill into the room. Orgrimmar looks near peaceful in the early morning.

‘Go refresh yourself. I shall get you breakfast in the meantime.’

‘You want to be rid of me?’ Jaina teases, picking up her clothing from the floor where she left it.

‘I could throw you out of the window if I wanted that,’ Sylvanas replies just as slyly. ‘No, but the sooner you return to Boralus, the sooner you can speak to your dignitaries. We will meet again tomorrow afternoon, nothing can change that now.’

~~~~~

After Jaina has washed, she finds Sylvanas waiting by the desk. The elf comments that, if she wants to receive Jaina in Grommash Hold more often, she either has to expand her rooms or move to different quarters entirely.

‘Warchiefs rarely had the luxury of peace, always on the move between warfronts. I suppose that is why their quarters here are so small and primitive.’

‘The water in the shower is warm, there is a… suitable bed. Oh and plenty of books,’ Jaina says while letting her wet hair out of the towel she had wrapped around her head. ‘Good enough for me. I reckon we’ve both slept in worse places.’

Her wife stares at her for a brief moment as she removes the strands of hair from her forehead, so they don’t obscure her vision. Then she slowly nods before pointing out the selection of food in front of her. ‘I didn’t know what you would prefer, but there are… various dishes.’

‘I’m sure I’ll find something of my liking.’

Inquisitively, Jaina looks over at the plates as she sits down next to Sylvanas. There is bread, though it does not look too appealing. It seems to be a kind of dry cracker that she thinks would fit very well into a soldier’s ration. But there are better things. Eggs, boiled and cut in half, spiced and with perfectly creamy yolk. Cured meats, deliciously savory. Smoked cheeses. A kind of warm, thick soup. Sweet fruit jams paired with freshly churned butter that make the dry bread eatable. As she is taking in the abundant meal, and listens to Sylvanas’ comments about “getting the cooks to prepare something delicate for you”, her attention is drawn to a steaming mug next to the platter with foods.

‘- and yes, I summoned them to make you… coffee. Blackrock variety, with milk. Since I believe you… liked it that much…’ Sylvanas’ voice fades near the end of her sentence. She starts paying special attention to her nails and the roughly cut wood of the desk. When Jaina does not immediately react, she says in a half-whisper: ‘That’s what you said during our cooking experience, correct? Or did I-’

‘Oh no, I absolutely said that. Truly, you didn’t have to bring it, but it’s an incredibly kind gesture!’    

Before Jaina can flap out more embarrassing words, she buries her face into the coffee mug, taking in a few gulps of the bitter brew. Then she indulges in the breakfast. Most of the bread is left uneaten, since she cannot stand the dry, flaky feeling of it in her mouth. Instead, she consumes most of the big bowl of warm soup and cuts off slices of cured meat and cheese. The boiled eggs are excellent as well, and she asks Sylvanas what the recipe is.

The Banshee Queen shrugs. ‘I never ate them, nor have I eaten in the first place, all the time that I have spent in this Hold.’

The statement makes Jaina focus on their quest again. She stays largely silent for the rest of her breakfast. thinking about the points where their plan seems to be fraying at the edges. This includes practically everything after they have made it to the Ruby Sanctum successfully. Portaling two people and a small sailboat from the waters around Kul Tiras to somewhere close to the Broken Shore is relatively easy. The process of recovering her strength and mana to repeat the process to the Sanctum is one of the weaker points. Jaina knows they cannot stay on the Broken Shore for long, since she is unwilling to risk detection. Yet the leaps she must make with the portals are big.

Then there is the challenge of speaking to the Dragon Queen and the likely difficult process of convincing her to help Sylvanas. What she has always heard since childhood, the old saying that dragons only help when the literal world is falling apart, now bothers her more than ever. She knows that Alexstrasza’s last public appearance was when she fought Deathwing, and became grievously injured in the ensuing battle. Since that fight, she has been reclusive, living in the Ruby Sanctum as protector. Her powers had waned, or so the rumours went.

With a sigh, Jaina shoves her worries aside, for the moment. There more pressing matters to attend to. Concealing their departure, informing Anduin of the strictly necessary things that he needs to disclose to the other Alliance leaders.

Finishing her last bite of smoked cheese, she contently leans back in her chair. Sylvanas’ ears give a sharp flick as the elf rights herself up. ‘Shall I escort you to the portal room?’ she asks in a soft tone.

‘To show the city that we’ve kissed and made up? Well I suppose it would be good to make a public appearance every now and then. We scarcely walk together in Boralus. Perhaps an idea for the future?’ Jaina wipes a stray bit of soup from the corner of her mouth and stands up. She looks at Sylvanas, who stares at her dumbfoundedly, a bit frightful and with a look of dismay. ‘Are you alright? What did I say now?’

‘We… you said we kissed and-’

‘It’s a saying, Sylvanas.’

Sylvanas stands up too, strangely stiffly. ‘I am aware.’

Then she squares her shoulders and looks harshly at Jaina. ‘We haven’t kissed since the wedding.’

‘No, and gods was that awkward. I barely felt anything, you tried to hide in your collar, I was holding my hand in front of our faces so people wouldn’t see our lips touch. I mean… if you wanted to we could, but with the quest we’re about to embark on I’m not sure… Tides, I am rambling, am I not?’

Jaina now hides her face in her hands, feeling a blush creep up on her cheeks. She hears a slight rustle of fabric. Then the feeling of Sylvanas’ cool hand on hers, softly pulling them away from her reddened face.

‘I do not want to… intrude. Come too close into what personal space is left for you. Especially not with my… impairments… the cold body, the lack of breath,’ she says hesitatingly.

Yet Jaina hears the silent want in her voice. She remembers the sweet words Sylvanas spoke before she fell asleep. And the longing that had sounded in those words.

Carefully stroking over Sylvanas’ fingers, entwined with hers, she asks: ‘But?’

In the silence that follows, she cannot search for her lover’s eyes. The feeling of nervousness overtakes her. Her mind goes to her previous partners. How long has it been since she properly kissed someone? Weren’t the instances of possession a more intimate experience? What is Sylvanas’ view of those moments, in comparison to kissing? A thousand questions fly through her thoughts. Then she gets her answer, in the form of a hoarse hiss that barely leaves Sylvanas’ mouth at all.

‘But… but what? I don’t… not now… at this moment, I don’t want to do anything that puts you off again. Not now, just not now.’

Jaina opens her eyes. Sylvanas has closed hers, face scrunched up in what Jaina thinks to be shame. She leans forward, putting the pad of her thumb on Sylvanas’ lips. Dry, cracked and mostly cold skin under her fingers. The red eyes fly open, shocked. And even more so as Jaina strokes her thumb up to the right corner of her mouth, inviting Sylvanas to tilt her head and rest it in the hand under her chin.

Don’t make me stand on my toes, Jaina thinks, as her legs are shaking underneath her. Her lover seems to get the hint, now tilting her head to the side. The corner of her mouth twitches underneath Jaina’s thumb, which she slowly draws back. Sliding the hand down over the elf’s neck, back over her shoulder and eventually softly gripping the nape of her neck with it.

Sylvanas’ arm slides up under hers, resting on her waist. It’s stabilizing her shaky legs and lifting her up the inch that is needed for them to press their lips together.

Jaina’s first sensation is the softness that she meets. Yes, Sylvanas’ lips are somewhat chapped, the skin is cold and doesn’t give in so much as a living person’s. But their kiss is as soft and sweet as the kisses that she imagined a lover would give her. The elf’s mouth twitches against hers, caught in between the kiss and a small smile. When Jaina runs out of breath and cannot keep their lips pressed together, she withdraws, though only marginally. Resting her forehead against Sylvanas’ cheek, she draws in a deep breath, relishing and savouring the feeling of the kiss for a little longer.

‘Was that… to your liking?’ she asks quietly into Sylvanas’ neck.

‘Most certainly,’ the answer comes, without vibration in the undead’s throat. ‘For now…’

‘We will get the opportunity to explore,’ Jaina assures her. ‘I made a promise, remember? Your warmth-’

She presses a smaller kiss to Sylvanas’ neck.

‘Your breath-’

She places her free hand on Sylvanas’ chest, in the center, slightly to the left, where her heart is.

‘Your heartbeat-’

She feels the elf’s arms close around her body in a tight hug, keeping her close just to feel her heart hammering within her chest.

‘- will be all yours… all yours again.’   

She looks into Sylvanas’ eyes, rubbing her thumb over the tear tracks burnt into her cheeks.

‘I promise.’